Will the 2020 Olympics Take the Fun Out of Japan?

At night, Tokyo oozes with sensuality. The narrow, dark alleys, and shanty clubs and eateries of Golden Gai can hardly hide the smells of sex that pervaded Shinjuku's mid-century red-light district.

—Vinayak Bharne, "Zen Spaces and Neon Places: Reflections on Japanese Architecture and Urbanism"

The highlight of my frigid January night in Tokyo's Golden Gai district was when the young Japanese couple tried whiskey for the first time. It was getting late inside Bar COO, a nomiya (drinking house) in this little ramshackle area tucked into the ever-bustling Shinjuku Ward. The Golden Gai is home to some 200 bars packed side-by-side and on-top-of-one another along six walkways, nearly all with seating for less than ten people, some as tight as six-feet wide. Typically, the bars charge a small cover, which gets patrons a seat and whatever delicacies the owner's serving. At Bar COO, treats included seaweed salad, Miso soup, and chunks of decidedly non-Nipponese Gouda.

That night, in the dead of winter, the Golden Gai wasn't totally overrun. Tourists on a bender aren't always welcomed, so we were waved off from one joint and ignored at another—understandable when most places only have six chairs that are usually already taken up by regulars. At Bar COO, however, everybody is welcome. The brightly-colored painting of a pastoral valley on the door wouldn't have been out of place in a 1970s commune, which is fitting because the vibe is peace, love, and understanding.

"Bar Coo has dual meanings, 'the sky' and the Buddhist aphorism 'there are no discriminations,'" says the owner, Miya. "My bar is a place of diversity, where anyone can laugh and enjoy themselves regardless of age, gender, race, nationality, status, or disability."

Miya pipes in Marley, Lennon, Mitchell, Cobain—all the sensitive types—hosts eclectic events like "Sign-Language Night" and "Bar in the Darkness," and hopes to soon get a television to showcase para-sports. She also offers first-time whiskey drinkers—hooch virgins simply looking to join the suddenly-close-knit crowd—Bowmore, a smoky, peaty, burn-the-throat Scotch, not advisable for rookies—or veterans, really. Miya poured it without fanfare, and none of us paid enough attention to recommend the youngsters try a nice starter whiskey. The young woman screamed "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" as she pounded the table and made gurgling noises. Her boyfriend, eyes watering, kept shaking his head, laughing at the whole notion that humans would actually drink something so harsh.

Everyone at Bar COO had a good chuckle. I bought them a friendlier drink. The couple found the replacement Jameson-and-sodas much more to their liking. A fun time in one of the world's greatest drinking 'hoods. If it sounds like your kind of thing, you should go. Soon. Hurry up.

Word on the skinny streets of the district is that the Golden Gai might not be standing by the time the 2020 Olympic torch is lit.

The destruction of the Golden Gai has long been rumored, as it sits smack dab in the middle of some of the most valuable real estate on the planet. According to a 2013 Japan Today article, the tiny area has been targeted "any number of times" and corporate developers have been part of plans in the past to raze the district, presumably to build much taller "multi-use" buildings. One oft-mentioned concern is fire safety, which seems like a reasonable and prudent thing to worry about. But the only time the neighborhood was seriously at risk was in the 1980s when the yakuza was torching nearby properties on behalf of developers. Golden Gai shopkeepers took turns guarding their establishments and the district survived.

(The yakuza though? That's some Reagan-era Black Rain shit. The yakuza doesn't warrant a mention since they can't possibly have anything to do with the 2020 Olympic Games, right? It's not like there are pictures of a Japanese Olympic officials getting loose with yakuza bosses, or a former Prime Minister with alleged ties to the underworld is head of the The Tokyo Organizing Committee of the Olympic and Paralympic Games… Sorry I even brought it up.)

So far, public plans for the destruction of the Golden Gai haven't appeared, although there are other parts of Tokyo that already are undergoing controversial transformations. Today doesn't say anything about tomorrow, and trusting the IOC or any of its oily governmental/business partners is like calling the yakuza to put out that four-alarm fire.

According to a Fair Play for Housing Rights report prior to the Beijing Games, the Olympics displaced more than a million people between 1988-2008. More recently, Brazilian officials clearcut a favela to build the 2016 Olympic Village, which will be turned into luxury apartments when it's over. Do you prefer a single Japanese man to represent all the awfulness the Olympics embody? Meet Junichi Inoue, 71, who will soon lose his Tokyo home to the 2020 Games—the exact same thing that happened to him in 1964.

This isn't to compare human rights violations to the loss of a section of town where folks with disposable income get Shochu-faced—although it would be a considerable loss of livelihood. It's just a reminder that nothing stands in the IOC's way. The Olympic "movement" is led by a bulldozer. Hell, Shinjuku itself is a behemoth today because of the 1964 Olympics. Much was torn down, then much more was built up, including what's become the world's most congested subway station with 3.5-million passengers a day.

"The Golden Gai is situated in the most robust, energetic, and psychedelic district of Tokyo. You go to Shinjuku and there's neon lights and digital screens everywhere, it's a very neo-modernist aesthetic, a futuristic embodiment of Japan, and in the middle is one of the few remaining streetscapes in Tokyo with traditional fabrics," says Bharne, a professor of public policy and architecture at the University of Southern California, and a lecturer and fellow in the school's Center for Japanese Studies. "From a purely historical preservation standpoint, it has enormous value. That alone is reason to have significant discussion about demolition."

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Following World War II, the Golden Gai rose up out of the ashes of firebombed Tokyo, housing all kinds of black markets. The two-story buildings that still stand were originally brothels. Men would sit at the bar drinking and waiting to be called upstairs for their dalliance under the low ceilings above. (Bar trivia: Hosting hookers is why most Golden Gai spots have bathrooms.) Soon, the government, who wanted to push gangsters and their dirty business away from the main train stations, outlawed prostitution in the district. In 1960, the Golden Gai morphed into its current incarnation. For many years, the dark narrow foreboding streets were the heart of Japanese bohemia, a congregation for local artists, writers, intellectuals, musicians, etc., much like Greenwich Village of the folk era.

Outsiders wouldn't come in droves until the bars started one-upping each other in theme, decor, and outrageousness. There are bars paying homage to: 1980s plastic toys, medical folderol like a pickled mouse in a jar and a large silicone penis, female pro wrestlers, Dario Argento's Suspiria, punk rock, Evil Knievel, a yellow sweatshirt reading simply "Ghetto," anime, and more. There is an American roadhouse, which consists mainly of omnipresent shots of Jack, Route 66 pillows, road signs, cowboy hats, flags everywhere, and a healthy dose of the Black Keys, Kid Rock, and the White Stripes. What's awful in Vegas is awesome in Tokyo. And even the gauche is worth preserving.

In Western society, historical preservation plays a much bigger role than in Japan, and we're hardly talking about ancient ruins. The low-key Golden Gai buildings feel like they're from a forgotten time, which they are: the 1950s. The neon noir-ish alleyways are out of the past, but not a distant past, because Japan has never been built to last.

"There's a beautiful quote from the famous Japanese architect Toyo Ito, 'the European city is a museum, the Japanese city is a theater.' Traditionally, every city, every building, was expected to live and die. Every wood building in Japan has been rebuilt. It's the antithesis of the Western idea of heritage. In the Japanese sensibility, demolishing things and places and rebuilding them is not a big deal," says Bharne.

I can't shake the idea that wiping out the Golden Gai would come down to the almighty yen. I take Bharne's word on the ephemeral transitory nature of the Japanese urban character, but that doesn't preclude a massive cash grab. In fact, it might facilitate such a thing, and the person getting paid won't be my bartender friend Miya. Fortunately, it may be too late for development. People like my wife and I, tourists and foreigners, might be the thing that saves the Golden Gai—and also kills it.

An anonymous blogger I'll call Tokyo-ed—who wished to remain so because there's no discussion of politics or economics on the blog—says that the Golden Gai has been under threat of redevelopment since it was established. And always will be. But it's still changing, even if the places remain the same.

"There is a greater threat to the character of Golden Gai than the Olympics, which is the 'Roppongification' of the area due to the huge recent influx of foreigners flocking to it. Roppongi has been widely shunned as 'the foreign' town of Tokyo since 1945. I seldom go to Golden Gai anymore because my favorite bars are always full of tourists," says Tokyo-ed. "Either you call attention to it, forcing officials to recognize Golden Gai's intrinsic value, or you keep it a secret with nothing stopping officials from doing whatever they want. To be honest, I feel either way we will lose Golden Gai."

I know what Tokyo-ed is saying. I watched the last remnants of the old weird Greenwich Village get chopped up and sold for golden scrap. My favorite bar got the Bloomberg-ian version of Joni Mitchell's parking lot. The original Blind Tiger became a Starbucks. I bitched. I complained. I moved. I get it.

And yet, I want to crawl inside the Golden Gai and spend the rest of my life there.

On our final evening out, we ended up back at Bar COO for the second time in our three nights in Tokyo—something I wouldn't have normally done in a city I may never see again. The highpoint that night was meeting a group of Australians. The one who lived in Japan showed my wife a picture of his family. She told him that his children were beautiful. He replied that the other daughter was actually his wife. It got big laughs at the nomiya where everybody knows your name. There's no choice but to make new boozing buddies. Miya's bar is the size of a grand piano.

While I have no faith in the good faith of anyone tied to the Olympics, Miya is confident things will all work out, and not just because of her hippie spirit. She asked her guy-in-the-know, Yuya Ishikawa—chairman of the promotion association of Shinjuku Sanko commercial streets, one of two Golden Gai unions whose membership is primarily bar owners—what to expect. Ishikawa told Miya not to worry. It's all unfounded rumors that have been around for years. He mentioned that the Golden Gai's popularity will make it a major Olympic destination. Bar owners should open every day and be flexible with the tourists, he advised.

"After I heard from the union, I don't worry about it anymore," says Miya "I can imagine future customers coming into Bar COO and saying, 'Hi, grandma. Are you still alive?'"